


this town was made on you

by terriblesharp



Series: my aim is true [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: 1950s, Accidental Voyeurism, Also a brief gen section from her POV as a child, And bodily fluids everywhere, Casting Couch, Coercion, Come Shot, Cunnilingus, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Did I not tag coercion already????, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Father/Daughter Incest, First Time Blow Jobs, Forced Orgasm, Golden Age Hollywood, Inexperienced Victim, Internalized Victim Blaming, Loss of Virginity, Offscreen Teenage Experimentation, Painful Orgasm, Painful Sex, Uncomfortable Positioning, Underage Sex, Vaginal Sex, Younger party is 16 when dubcon takes place, but witnesses sexual activity/experiments consensually as a younger teen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:13:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26353981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terriblesharp/pseuds/terriblesharp
Summary: "Allison Clare," her father said. "Am I going to make you a goddamn movie star?"
Relationships: Producer Father With Casting Couch/Aspiring Actress Daughter
Series: my aim is true [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1924693
Comments: 25
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Allison went to a real Hollywood premiere, she was nine years old. 

She already knew that Daddy had an important job in the movies, sometimes she was pretty sure she'd been born knowing that, but Mother had never wanted to let her do _anything_ that might involve staying up past bedtime: even on New Year's, even on weekends, even in the summer. Even on _V-J Day_ three years earlier (not a weekend, but the summer and also _the end of the entire g.d. war_ , how many of those did a kid get? she'd heard Daddy bellowing downstairs when he got home, right before he came and scooped her out of bed at _midnight_ and they all had Coke floats in the kitchen, even Mother, even Rosie), Mother had been really wild about the whole idea of Allison going to bed at seven-thirty, even if that meant she hardly ever saw anything of her parents at all. 

Allison, even three years earlier, had been pretty certain that was the entire point. She liked the idea that Daddy had gone ahead with the divorce at least _sort_ of because Mother was so dead set on making sure Allison never saw anybody but her teachers and Rosie and Calvin the driver, except at dinnertime and on special occasions -- why else would she still be living with him? -- but she was nine now, and she figured it probably had at least as much to do with the number of girlfriends Daddy had had ever since then. Daddy was a powerful man, and powerful men liked having pretty young women around who were nice to them: she remembered getting that explanation, kind of awkwardly, from Laurel, who was after Caroline, who was after… Melody? She was pretty sure there'd been someone between Melody and Caroline, maybe one of the Elizabeths, but really that just proved the point. 

Mother had been pretty, but she hadn't been all that nice, and she'd been thirty-seven or some age like that; she'd been Daddy's second wife since the movies started talking, and anyone would've guessed that he must have been just about ready for a change. The change right now was Hope, whose movie it kind of was; she wasn't the _lead_ , but she was the wild co-ed daughter who might've accidentally shot some man, and even Allison could see that she looked honestly very good in comparison to the real lead. Prettier, younger, not any work done, Allison was definitely not just thinking that because Hope had convinced Daddy to bring her along _and_ painted her fingernails red that afternoon for the occasion, instead of Shell Pink; Hope was definitely the best change yet, and she was actually living with them in the house now, so Allison and the other girls in her class were crossing their fingers pretty hard that Hope was going to end up being the third wife. (Bethany, whose daddy was on his _fifth_ , had said confidently that it wasn't good for men that age to go too long without being married; they needed the stability. Allison had passed that along to Hope, who'd laughed, and that was probably a good sign.)

The premiere was at any rate _amazing_ , the way she'd always hoped it would be: all the lights, the people screaming and cheering, the brand-new velvet dress that was nicer than anything she'd ever had except for Christmas parties, it made her chest feel three or four sizes too small for the way her heart was beating. Even the movie was incredible, although honestly Allison saw enough movies to know that this one wasn't personally very special. Seeing it before anyone else in the world, though, sitting in Grauman's with the practically-star on one side of her and Daddy the studio head on the other and the hero sitting behind her (he'd _bowed_ when Daddy introduced them!) -- it made her feel like there couldn't be a body big enough for the excitement. Like this had to be what it was all about, after all, just like everyone said. Like she wanted that feeling _all the time_. 

"I want to be an actress," she said confidently, as soon as the lights came up (it was deathly bad manners to talk during a movie, it was worse than fidgeting in church). Hope laughed. 

"Jesus Christ," Daddy said, "that's the last goddamn thing I need."

***

When she was fourteen, Allison dropped by Daddy's office right after school and accidentally sort of walked in on him with his dick in some girl's mouth. 

It absolutely wasn't her fault; Jeane was supposed to be at the desk outside his door whenever he had a meeting with anyone, and Allison had sat there with her and drawn pictures or read _Photoplay_ or done her French homework or read _Forever Amber_ with the book jacket for _Great Expectations_ on it for years, waiting for Daddy to be done with a lot of meetings. Including, come to think of it, a lot of meetings with some girl, but that was his _job_ \-- Jeane was absolutely never away when Daddy was busy in the office, and if she ever was, Allison assumed, the door would be locked if he had someone in there. 

The door wasn't locked, and there was someone in there, and Daddy was plenty busy. Or maybe the girl was -- he was standing mostly with his back to the door, but it was kind of impossible not to _know_ what that girl would be doing on her knees on the Indian rug like that, right in front of him, with both his hands clutched in her hair. Allison's friends mostly also had fathers who were very important in the movie business; things got talked about, dirty magazines got stolen. She personally had learned a lot from Jessica's half-brother last summer while he was home from boarding school; he hadn't really let her _touch_ his dick, he'd said she was kind of young for that, but they'd necked for ages and he'd taken her bra off and he'd at least _shown_ her his dick, and told her that was what the guys mostly called it, and shown her how he stroked it with his hand until his stuff shot out of it, which definitely should have been disgusting and somehow wasn't.

He'd been pretty noisy about that. Daddy was being a _lot_ noisier -- which figured, she guessed. His voice was deeper, and he didn't have to be quiet in case the housekeeper caught him with his little sister's friend half naked in his bedroom, so naturally he was kind of groaning and growling a lot; and naturally someone's mouth would be a lot -- wetter, than Charles' hand and just some Pond's he'd probably stolen from Jessica. From the wet sounds, and the way Daddy was groaning, it sounded like he was going really -- really _fast_ , and not giving her all that much chance to breathe. Allison was really very interested to know whether the girl minded that; she had her eyes closed, which was good, because she could definitely otherwise have seen the door cracked open, but that made it just about impossible to tell anything about the look on her face. 

Charles hadn't really touched her between her legs at all, or just with his knee kind of by accident when they were necking, but whatever she had down there that got all hot and bruised-feeling when she read racy books, or when Charles had sucked on her breasts a little before he scrambled away and pulled his dick out, or when he'd made it shoot all that white stuff all over his hand and his stomach and the bed -- whatever that was, it was _throbbing_. 

Unless Daddy had plans to back away, too -- maybe that was just what men did? -- his stuff was going to go in that girl's mouth, and that made her feel a little queasy and also like between her legs she was about to _turn inside out_. 

She jumped back from the doorway like it was on fire, but she remembered how to pull the door closed quietly before she went and sat down in the chair across from Jeane's desk, just the way she did at least once a week every week of her life. Jeane herself came scurrying back from the direction of the ladies' washroom, running -- once she saw Allison -- as much as a kind of dumpy woman in her forties _could_ run in heels; which figured, Allison thought, considering. 

"Oh, Allie, honey," she said, her normally-a-little-sheeplike voice all breathless and wobbly with concern, "how long have you been waiting? Nobody told me you were coming to visit us this afternoon."

Allison, whose body or her subconscious or something sometimes knew a lot about what adults weren't saying, knew with an absolute certainty that Jeane would have been _more_ than fired if anyone had any inkling that she'd deserted her post long enough for C. Theodore Holland's only daughter to sort of walk in on C. Theodore Holland with his dick in some girl's mouth. Never mind how often she'd kept Allison busy and shared her cache of bridge mix from the middle drawer (she always said Allison was the only person who actually liked the filberts enough to eat them first) while on the other side of that door Daddy was probably doing the exact same thing --

Allison squirmed a little. Her panties felt _incredibly_ slippery; she'd noticed that before when she'd had the feeling, but this was bad enough she probably needed to check whether she'd gotten the curse as well. 

\-- Jeane would be _so_ fired, if anyone even wondered about this one time, that not even HUAC would have a word for how fired she was. 

"Just a second ago," she said, and smiled. Jeane's face just melted with relief, faster than an ice cream sundae in Death Valley; Jeane definitely knew what was happening in there. Allison was sort of dying to ask how she felt about it. 

"Are you feeling okay, honey?" Jeane asked, her ice-cream face all syrupy with concern. "You look a little pink. You didn't get too much sun today, did you?" 

"I think I should maybe go in the washroom real quick." Allison made her eyes go big and embarrassed and confidential, and Jeane nodded like she was getting back to herself in record time. Nothing, but _nothing_ , worked on women that age like the idea of Allison right that moment doing her training-bra best to be a big girl about the curse. "And could I please have some water when I get back?" 

It wasn't the curse. Her panties were soaked halfway transparent with some clear, slick stuff; it wasn't that comfortable to wear them, and wiping herself off felt strange and jumpy, like touching a fresh sunburn, but it at least looked like it would dry invisible. There was water there waiting for her when she got back, seltzer with two cherries and three wedges of lime exactly the way she liked best, and bridge mix in bowls this time, and it was another forty minutes at least before the door opened and Daddy and the girl came out. 

She was pretty, Allison decided. Not as pretty as Pamela, who was supposed to be an actress too but had done basically nothing since she moved in except lie out by the pool; hopefully not as pretty as Allison was getting to be; but the same type as both of them, little and blonde with big eyes and a pointy chin and a wide mouth like the rest of Allison's face was hopefully going to grow into.

It made the inside-out slippery feeling come back a little, realizing that Daddy's girlfriends tended to be her same type; she hadn't really thought about it, other than how convenient it was when she could borrow their makeup. She was pretty sure it hadn't always been that way. Hope's hair had been nearly black. 

Still, it wasn't like this one was really a girlfriend. She was just some other girl who wanted a job, and blondes were what everyone liked these days. She didn't _look_ like she'd just been doing what she'd been doing, except a little self-conscious; maybe some of the forty minutes had been for her to fix her face. Having your mouth shoved down around some man's dick like that had to be rough on the old lipstick. 

When she'd messed around with Charles, she'd once or twice kind of wanted to run her fingers through the stuff on his stomach and lick them off, just really from curiosity. She'd never said anything about that; anything that came from down there was automatically so disgusting that he'd tell everyone she was a real sicko roundheels if she touched it, even if she hadn't been too young to do anything but sit there with her breasts out while he took care of his dick himself. There'd always been a lot of it. Would a man in his forties make more, or less? 

Maybe he did that in the girl's mouth so he wouldn't have to worry about leaving a mess. 

"Allison, sweetheart," Daddy said -- he was the only grown-up who said her full name that seriously, like she was someone he _knew_ , "this is Elise. We're going to see if I can't make her into a movie star."

***

"Absolutely no way until you're sixteen," had been Daddy's last word about her wanting to be an actress, ever since he stopped shooting her down absolutely. "I mean it, Allison Claire, you're at least getting _half_ a high-school education under your belt first, I'm not raising one of those back-lot chippies who turn thirty before they find out the ending of _See Spot Run_." 

What with one thing and another, there were definitely some other reasons; once she'd started listening differently to her friends and Daddy's mistresses, and paying more attention to even the actresses her own age and a little younger, it was pretty clear that what she'd seen a few years ago hadn't been any kind of freak accident. It turned out men didn't want to head up studios just because they loved the movies, or because they could get rich as all hell doing it. Daddy, it turned out, absolutely considered a day _wasted_ if he didn't get ninety solid minutes in his office with some half-pretty carhop from Kenosha -- before he came home almost every single night and put it to whichever really-pretty starlet was living at the house with him, no matter what time it was by then. And Daddy was apparently quite clean-living, comparatively. 

Allison had never walked in on him again, but sometimes he got home early enough that she could tiptoe sock-feet into the guest bedroom next to his, without being so tired she fell asleep there. For such an expensive house the walls weren't much; just the night before, the eve of her birthday, she'd gone in there and heard him pretty much ride Lindy into the sunset _three times_. Clean-living, but not exactly a saint. 

Sometimes she put her hand up her nightie and rubbed herself while she was listening and they were being loud enough to cover it, so she wasn't any saint either -- a virgin, sure, but not a saint. She'd made her own teeth rattle five times during their three, and been narrowing on a sixth when she rolled over funny with her hand between her legs and got a not-amusing pull in her shoulder for her troubles; how many virgins knew how to do that? How many other girls, for that matter? Probably none, since even the boys who pushed the hardest to go all the way got really scandalized when she wanted to do that instead. 

Sixteen, sixteen, sixteen today, though, _and_ it was the summer, so she got waffles in bed for breakfast before the whole day to herself. They weren't even holding her sweet sixteen until next week, when Jessica and Sally and Bethany (and Charles, ugh, she honestly didn't know whether or not she was in a hurry to be alone with Charles, he'd started pushing) would be back from the summer camp where the girls went and Charles counseled Tulip Cabin, for the campers who'd just finished ninth grade. (From what _everyone_ had said last summer, he was doing a little more than that with some of the Tulips, but did she care?) 

She hadn't even really been expecting Daddy to call and invite her for birthday lunch that same day -- mostly the last few years it was birthday dinner at home, or lunch a few days later -- let alone for him to call _himself_. It was flattering, definitely, and it made a little hopeful feeling start in her chest; maybe he was _already_ ready to start talking about her career, maybe he'd just been waiting because he'd told her how it would go and he was all the way gone on resolve, maybe he'd realized years ago that Allison was pretty much the only one of her friends who still _really_ wanted to be a movie star --

"I thought I'd give you some use out of your birthday present," he said, smiling so she could hear it over the powder pink phone (with its _own_ line!) that was still dumbfounding her, a little, when she even saw it on her nightstand. Almost all of her friends had their own phones, a couple of them even had separate lines, but Daddy had always been very old-fashioned about phone calls she couldn't hold unashamedly in the living room. A phone for her room meant trust. She couldn't help, too, seeing it as a good sign; maybe he expected her to need her own number for work _right away_. 

"Thank you, Daddy," she said, for the approximately thousandth time, and he laughed. There was something a little funny about the laugh, she thought, or maybe it was just the line. 

"I'll have Max drop you off here at noon," he said, clearing his throat a little. "My office. Few minor things I should attend to, and then I'll happily escort you to whichever godforsaken hamburger joint your crowd is wild about this week, without so much as a word of what that junk will do to your skin --" 

"That _was_ a word, Daddy," Allison said, sticking her tongue out at the phone; her skin was _fine_ , better than -- that made one useful thing she'd inherited from Mother -- and Daddy loved junk as much as any teen-ager. Still it would be nice to go someplace cheap and fun with him, someplace that didn't land her with three forks and a Waldorf salad and also Lindy casting herself as the loving stepmother; it was something they only did for special occasions. 

Her birthday mood bubbled her all the way to the studio office, past Constance-not-Connie at Jeane's old desk outside Daddy's office; she didn't even think it _could_ ever go south, until she walked in and saw him sitting behind his desk with a thoughtful little wrinkle between his eyebrows. He was starting to turn grey at the edges, or maybe he'd _been_ grey and he was just now letting his barber fade out the hair-dye -- Allison couldn't tell, even when she went over and kissed him on the forehead -- and it only made him look even more distinguished. Daddy, she was pretty sure, was the only studio head who could have been in movies instead of making them; he wasn't exactly handsome, with a face that sternly craggy, but plenty of men who photographed handsome looked shifty and weak-chinned in real life. 

"Sit down, sweetheart," Daddy said, and she did: the soft chair opposite his desk, the one that was really comfy even if getting out of it felt a little bit like you were back in kindergarten. He was tapping out a little rhythm on his desk blotter, almost unconsciously; she hadn't really seen him do that in years. Not since Bridget went to Mexico that time, she thought, even though she was still probably not supposed to know what that was all about -- 

"Sixteen years old today," he added, shaking his head slowly. "I can't believe a word of it. Although you certainly have turned out to be the prettiest girl in either hemisphere."

"Thank you, Daddy," Allison said, a little more quietly than should have been possible; probably there wasn't anything wrong, probably it was just being in there that was making her feel kind of off. He hadn't even moved that Indian rug since she saw what-was-that-girl's-name sucking him on it, two years ago, or the high, wide chaise against the far wall. She had a better idea now about what _that_ was for, sometimes. 

"Regarding your interest in becoming an actress," he said. He steepled his hands in front of him; Sherlock Holmes, she thought, only less violinist and more bare-knuckle boxer. Daddy's hands, and his wrists and arms, were _big_. "Today I'm going to level with you. You've certainly got the looks for it, and I've been to enough of your school performances to believe you have the talent. What worries me, sweetheart, is the idea that you might go out in the world continuing to believe you'll be handed everything you ask for, just because the world wants to stay on good terms with your old man."

" _Daddy_ ," Allison said -- the bad part might have been true enough to sting, but it wasn't all the way true, she told herself, told the mortified little blush creeping up her neck. Not any less true than the good. All right, she was used to things being given easily; it didn't mean she was selfish, or spoiled, or that she threw tantrums like a baby, and it didn't even mean she _couldn't_ have earned them --

"I don't mean that it'll ruin your character," Daddy said, just like he could hear her thoughts; it made her heart skip half a beat every time, even though she was pretty sure he just paid attention to her face. "You're a very sweet, thoughtful girl, Allison. I don't think success is going to spoil you, not that way, but over the years I've paid close attention to your school reports. You get B's when your teachers know you could get A's, you get A's when they know you could be head of the class… I think you're a very bright, pretty, talented young lady whose father has some say in this town, and it hasn't left you with the drive to work yourself any too hard. Would you say that's fair?"

"I guess so," Allison said, after a minute; her mouth was turning dry, the blush was working up her throat even faster, but she had to think he wasn't _wrong_. He wasn't even being cruel, honestly; Daddy always knew what had to be fixed before something was ready to go -- movies, people, anything -- and he was too conscientious to let any of it slide. It was what he was famous for. 

"Not a mortal flaw, for a girl without your aspirations," he said almost casually. "If you dreamed of being a housewife, or a secretary, I'd say you were far overqualified. But this business is only too full of bright, pretty, talented girls who've grown up fighting for every last goddamn thing in their lives, and I don't know that you're ready to compete with them without my handing you enough advantages to make us both into laughingstocks."

He braced his hands on the desk, standing up; Allison's insides lurched a little, and she figured it had to be guilt. Embarrassment, maybe. He was probably right -- he was definitely right, she'd never even come first in a spelling bee except the time Virginia was out with a stomach bug. She was used to just _getting_ things that were more than good enough, and she couldn't exactly sit there blushing and tell him it was his fault for loving her enough to be generous. She had no idea what he'd say back to her, if she told him that. 

"You're right," she said quietly; she wasn't going to cry or whine or make excuses, he was leveling with her and she was going to prove to him that she could handle it. She couldn't quite make herself look up at him with lovely feminine determination like Grace Kelly, the way he always liked, not quite that second, but she was proud of how measured she sounded. "I can be pretty lazy, I guess, but I don't _want_ anyone to hand me anything I haven't earned. I'm only sixteen, I won't shrivel up or anything if I don't get that much work for a while --" 

"Hold your horses," Daddy said, and now -- he sounded amused, and a little tired, and gravelly in a way she couldn't quite get the hang of. "Now I've been thinking a lot about how to work this out between ourselves, sweetheart, because I _do_ know you could easily deserve the best, and I've had a few ideas."

He circled around the desk, leaning against it just a little bit off to the left of where Allison was looking; she wasn't sure she could handle turning to look deliberately at him, not right away, not when he was close enough for her to feel a little bit of the warm air around him and smell his cologne. The very idea made her insides feel a little bit off-balance again. 

"I don't know whether you're aware," her father said, "I don't know whether or not I _hope_ you're aware, that there's a certain traditional rite of passage for young aspiring actresses in this town. A way for them to demonstrate to the men who'll make their careers that they're mature enough to cooperate and do whatever it takes to succeed. Do you understand what I'm talking about, Allison?"

For a moment she didn't, at all; and then for a moment her body had it figured out before she did, so that her ears were ringing and her skin felt hot and tight and too-raw everywhere and her breathing turned funnier than the time she fell off a swing onto her belly, all even before she thought to look directly at him. At his hands gripping the edge of the desk, at his eyes gazing back down at her, at the unfamiliar very-familiar bulge in the front of his suit trousers --

Oh. _Oh_. 

"Very funny, Daddy," she said, "you really had me going there," her mouth suddenly feeling tacky and much too wet at the same time so that her words came out sounding oddly tinny, like she was really speaking Chinese or Martian, like he meant _anything else_ , the way he had to. Like in between her legs she wasn't remembering _hard_ exactly what she'd seen him doing with that girl, right over there, or heard him doing with Lindy and Maryann and Celeste and Sylvia and --

"Then you do have some idea of what I have in mind," he said, like -- like he was _proud_ of her. 

" _Daddy_ ," and maybe she was just running a really high fever all of a sudden. "You can't mean that. You're my _father_ \--" 

Her voice broke and squeaked on the last word, and he reached out and stroked her hair away from her cheek, tipped her chin up with two fingers and looked into her eyes and maybe the fever idea was it, she felt hot-cold-dizzy enough for it, except that the only time she'd had a temperature _that_ high she hadn't been making any guesses about what was happening to her --

"I am," he said, and maybe it was a dream? Except when she realized she was dreaming she always woke up. "And I've watched the way you look at me, over the last few years. I don't think it's pure heartwarming daughterly hero-worship that I've seen now and then, sweetheart. Would you say I'm wrong?" 

Oh… no. Oh _God_. 

"That doesn't mean us doing this is _right_ ," breathless, it was worse than falling off the swing, it was worse than seeing him with that girl, it was worse than later that night two years ago putting her hand back between her legs and finding out all at once what the inside-out feeling was for. 

"Think about it like this," Daddy said, and she recognized his lecturing voice, all right. "We agree, don't we, that you've never really needed to take on any kind of hard work to get something you want more than you want to coast along through life. You think it's wrong for me to offer my own daughter the same bargain I offer every other young lady who comes through this office wanting to be a star -- well, I dare say you're right. And I dare say that if you're ready to take that bargain nonetheless, we can fairly call that sixteen years' worth of hard work all squared away in one afternoon. I believe at that point I could be very confident that you had what it takes."

He was quiet for a minute, while her ears rang and her eyes went in and out of focus behind a sting of tears -- that was the thing about Daddy, always, he left you with time to think about things, and her eyes couldn't get unfocused enough to stop noticing his dick through his suit trousers. Her _father's_ dick, and it couldn't really be bigger than it had been when she noticed it a minute ago, could it? She'd only seen two other ones, really, and they hadn't been very big --

"Allison Clare," her father said, she'd told him about that, about how she could turn her middle name into a last name so at least she wouldn't be _flaunting_ whose daughter she was, when she tried to get parts. God, oh God. She'd never known _how_ to want anything else. "Am I going to make you a goddamn movie star?" 

"Yes, Daddy," she said. 

She wasn't remotely sure she could want to see the look on his face, when she said that -- greedy and unkindly pleased and almost _scared_ \-- but she couldn't imagine not seeing it. It made something pulse, all the way inside her, something that was like the reflection of all those things at once.

"Then why don't you get down over there on your knees," he said, and he smiled when she had to struggle up out of the chair -- her legs felt like Bambi legs, like a cartoon with nothing but water inside, and he was smiling the same way he did when she told him a funny story or played the piano for company. Like she made him happy, staggering like that so he could watch her, kneeling down on the rug, not covering her eyes or running away when he stood in front of her and started unbuckling his belt. 

"How much do you understand about what I want you to do for me?" he said, unbuckling, unbuttoning his fly. He was so close to her that once he had that open she could see a tiny wet spot on his shorts, _God_ , like he'd been ready to go for -- it took longer for men his age to get that excited than for high-school boys, didn't it? It had taken him a lot longer in between rounds with Lindy the night before. 

"Um," she said, high and thready, high school boys never asked questions other than _can I_ or _wanna_ or _why not_. "My mouth? On… it?" 

He laughed, and ruffled her hair -- she'd been begging for a year to get it cut short, but he always told her how pretty she looked with her long hair in a ponytail or waving down to her shoulders like it was now. _God_. "Good enough. Take it out for me."

There was so much heat coming from his body. He was so _big_ \-- and thick, and hard, leaking from the tip a little already -- and she hadn't known, really, they could be so big in real life and not just dirty comics, and it was her father's dick. He'd put this inside her mother to make her, and now it was going to be in _her_ , and for the life of her Allison didn't want to know whether it was disgust or desire that was tying her up into knots and making her mouth water right then. 

"Jesus Christ, sweetheart," Daddy said, almost conversationally. "The look on your _face_. I could frame that and call it _The Singular Fucking Reason Any Man Does Anything_. I imagine you've never sucked a cock before."

"No, Daddy," in the awful tiny creaky voice that was all she could find, and he… grunted, more than laughed. 

"That's all right. I like to do most of that work. All you need to do is give it a nice kiss hello, and then put your hands behind your back, open your mouth, and put out your tongue."

He put his own hand around his cock, then, bringing the tip down right towards her face; the thick male smell of him should have been disgusting, it likely was disgusting, but it was making her mouth even wetter, so she barely needed to lick her lips at all to stop them being dry. Still she couldn't quite bring herself to do more than brush her mouth against it, so lightly that she could almost imagine she didn't taste a thing. 

He made another noise. 

" _Kiss_ it, I said," hoarse already. "I know you're hungry for it. Show me." 

Allison didn't think she'd ever understand, or try to, how in the world she managed to do it: kiss the tip of her father's cock, that first second time, with wet lips and enough of her tongue to undeniably lick up some of what was slicking it. He tasted strange, like the way he smelled: hot and bitter and a little gamy and _male_. Part of her wished she'd been roundheeled enough to do this with another boy first, any other, and another part of her was oddly glad not to have; maybe it made a kind of sense, after all, kneeling like this in the exact place she'd seen him do this the first time. Maybe it was even what she deserved, for gawking at him with one of those other poor girls, for getting so wet, for imagining sometimes that he was doing things to her. Maybe she'd _wanted_ him to be her first, really, deep down. Jessica's mother's analyst was apparently big on people wanting things deep down without knowing it…

"That's it," he said, almost breathless, the almost-scared look was back on his face again. "Good girl, Allison. You're a sharp little learner after all. _Open_ \--" 

He put his other hand on the back of her head even before he put his cock on her tongue, and she was somewhere between shocked and nauseated and relieved when she immediately understood why: she barely even knew it _was_ on her tongue before her body tried to gag and recoil at the same time, and he stroked her hair almost affectionately. 

"Close your lips, sweetheart. We'll do it half-speed to begin, but just like I tell all my girls -- if you bite me, if you sick up on me, if you try and stop me, that's your first and last audition in this town. Comprenny-voo?" 

She couldn't nod, with the way he was holding her, and she couldn't say "yes." She closed her lips, instead. 

It was horribly awkward to keep her teeth well clear, and she couldn't figure out how to get her lips tight enough to really _suck_ \-- was that what he wanted? How could it be easiest, while Daddy held her head still in one hand and fed her his cock with the other, to worry about whether she was doing it right for what he wanted? He was groaning, anyway, staring down at his cock going into her mouth, like she was doing it right _enough_ for the time being; even if it was barely the first inch or so before her body tried to gag again and she made a horrible whimpery panicky sound. 

He laughed: a little hoarse and breathless, almost a growl, but laughter was clearly what it was. "You're all right, Allison," he said in that new breathless voice. "You're a good girl, you can take it -- relax for me, sweetheart, relax, relax, relax." 

He capped off every _relax_ with a hard little shove into her mouth, while he held her head in place. It made her splutter, and then it made her choke a little, and then all of a sudden it made her figure out how she could ease up her jaw and let her mouth go slack without actually opening wide, and the shove after that went at least twice as deep without being any more trouble, really. Daddy seemed to like that very much. 

He was leaking a lot more onto her tongue, so she didn't really have a choice but to keep swallowing it, and that seemed to pull him a little deeper in as well. He was still holding her head right where he wanted it, but he wasn't quite going too fast for her to breathe, or trying to feed her more of it than she could take if she really tried. Half-speed, but still she could feel she was dripping spit and probably the other stuff down her chin. It had to look disgusting, it felt disgusting in a way that still didn't match up to how disgusting it _should_ feel to be kneeling here letting her father do this, just so he'd make her famous, or because maybe she had wanted it, maybe that was why she could tell for certain that her panties were as soaked as they'd ever been.

She tried really sucking at his cock again, almost without meaning to, the next time he shoved in; that at least seemed less _sloppy_. It was loud and wet and strange-feeling, the most natural thing to do only not, and it made Daddy groan like an animal while suddenly the hand on the back of her head went from holding her still to pushing her down so he could -- could _fuck_ right towards her throat, so hard she gagged again. For an awful second she was afraid this was going to be her first and last audition -- and nothing to show for it, that would be the worst of the worst -- but once that second passed it was a little easier the next time, and the next after that. 

"Good girl," Daddy was saying, hoarse and distant like she wasn't really supposed to listen while he was pushing her head down. His breathing in between words made all the times she'd heard him seem very quiet; so did the wet sounds of him fucking her mouth. " _Good_ girl. Look how nicely you're taking it. I can teach you any other time how to use that pretty little mouth like a fucking champion but I can't teach dedication."

He shoved in again, right to the back of her tongue and his cock _twitching_ and leaking in her mouth, Allison swallowing swallowing swallowing spit and the taste of him while her mind got trapped in a groove of _any other time -- any other_ \-- gulped hard just at the moment to get the very tip of his cock up to the hot choking opening of her throat. Her eyes were watering; she wasn't quite sure how much of it was tears. 

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ," Daddy growled, not really sounding human at all. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her up again -- not off his cock, but just enough to fuck her mouth with the first two inches or so while his cock jerked and swelled even farther and she was pretty sure she could fall right apart if she could even press any part of herself against another, or else faint dead. If she could take her hands out from behind her back -- "Suck it, Allison, that's my girl. I've waited fucking years to come in that mouth, so you suck it all out for me if you want -- my end -- of the bargain --" 

She'd been hoping, maybe, that he didn't have so much left after everything with Lindy the night before. Maybe he didn't, comparatively, but the very first shot of bitter jism landed on her tongue feeling like at least half of what she'd seen Charles and then Bobby do in one sitting. Thick, too, it felt, and hot, and then another spurt and another while she was desperately trying to swallow it down. Maybe Daddy hadn't exactly said she _had_ to swallow it, but he was holding her hair and filling her mouth with the stuff and what would she do if she could manage to hold all that without swallowing until he was done -- spit it out on the rug? ask to go to the washroom looking the way she did? no and _please_ no --

She could tell _that_ was running down her chin, too, by the time he grunted and took his half-softened cock away. And then there she was, there was Allison, slumped on the floor on her knees, with her hair and face a mess and her entire body shaking, soaking, wetter and more tender between her legs than she could have imagined; for a second she absolutely despised him. For another second she wanted him to pick her up and wash her face and read her bedtime stories; she didn't know _what_ , really, she could want, or what to do next. 

"Was that okay?" she said, shaky and sticky-hoarse in her throat, and then changed it to, "I mean, was that the deal? Daddy?" 

He was smiling, while he looked her over; like seeing this made him happier than he'd ever been in his life. Like she was _perfect_. She couldn't imagine what to do about that look, even less than she could imagine anything else. 

"Why don't you take those clothes off," he said, "and go over to the couch, and lie down."


	2. Chapter 2

It turned out Daddy liked to watch really _closely_ while Allison took her clothes off; he didn't try to help, and she couldn't really decide if that was better or not, just tucked his cock back away and leaned against the desk and stared. She stood there in his office and stripped off her pretty pink blouse and her sandals and shorts, while his stare got harder and hotter and more focused, and then she was standing there in her bra and panties and her hands shaking so bad that she couldn't keep herself from looking piteously over to him. "Daddy, do I _have_ to do all of it right now?" 

He made a little hurry-up movement with his hand. "I gave you some very simple instructions, sweetheart. You're not inspiring me to believe that you can take direction."

If she stunk it up now, Allison reminded herself, she would have just sucked his cock for _no reason_ ; she'd know all this about Daddy for _no reason_ , and about herself too, so toughen up, buttercup. That helped her unhook her bra, at least, although there was a long moment before she could let it fall to the floor. Her nipples were so hard they hurt; her breasts felt tender through and through, actually, that happened to her when she was worked up, and the way they bounced a little every time she moved was something she hadn't remembered to expect. 

Daddy was watching her with his eyes narrowed and a look on his face like he was about to start snorting and pawing at the ground. It was terrifying, and it made her feel like she could burn up and die from shame right there, but also like some of that burning wasn't _only_ awful to feel; the tight fluttery heat in the pit of her belly was making her much too aware again that she was soaking in between her legs and everything there was all swollen and hollow-feeling. She plucked at the waistband of her panties; her nerve was about to go. The idea of taking them off so that Daddy would see exactly how wet she was, how dirty before anyone but her had ever really touched her there --

"If you're having a change of heart, Miss Clare," he said, "I assure you, it's not too late for me to call around and pencil in a young lady this afternoon who's serious about her career."

Allison screwed her eyes shut and hooked her thumbs under the elastic and pulled her panties down, one-two-three-off, and there she was naked and wet and mortified in Daddy's office, hugging herself a little against the chill of the air conditioning. It was a moment or so before she could pull herself together enough even to open her eyes again, but that didn't seem to bother him; she guessed he really liked the view that much, from the way he was staring without making any noise except the rasp of his breath. 

It was -- flattering at least, or something, thinking that as she picked her way over to the chaise. Or maybe flattering wasn't quite the word. It didn't feel good, like praise did, but it made her skin hurt and everything inside her _pull_ ; wouldn't he have to want her that much more than he did any of the other girls, to do something like this when he could keep right on laying every woman in town who didn't _mind_ letting him, who wasn't a crime? Who'd probably be better at it, too? 

_Lie down_. The chaise had a low back and an arm only at one end, and it looked wide enough for a man Daddy's size to lie on pretty comfortably; she wondered if you had to get a thing like that made special. It was soft enough to lie down on, for sure, even if she couldn't stop herself squeezing her thighs together and crossing her arms over her chest like she was in a coffin. Daddy huffed one of his laughs and came over to stare down at her. His eyes, that close up, looked almost black. 

"I can tell you one thing this minute, Allison," he said, sounding more like himself than he had before now -- kinder, maybe, despite what he was saying? "You're going to have a very nasty time if you don't help me unwind you a little. Normally, I admit, I could get a kick out of forcing my way through all this girlish modesty, but I am very fond of you and that's not the kind of birthday I'd rather give you. Think you can work with me?"

"I don't kno-ow." God, just those three words were threatening to turn into _hysterics_. Allison bit her lip -- it didn't help so much, that bitter musky taste reminding her of what was all over her mouth and her chin, but the sting at least gave her a second to pull herself together. "I want to, Daddy, but --" 

"You're fairly virginal, aren't you?" He let her get away with nodding her answer; it seemed to be the right one, from the way he exhaled. "Good. That's very good, sweetheart. I'm very pleased with you. Do you ever play with yourself?" 

She nodded, again, and he growled under his breath. " _Good_. Let's try something. Sit up and bring your pretty little ass right to the edge of the couch."

She did; she wasn't sure what she expected from it, precisely, but it wasn't for him to crouch down, surprisingly agile, face to face with her knees. It made her feel like she could _melt_ down there, from the inside out, even before he reached out and pried her knees apart like her resistance was nothing, pushed her legs wide until he had to be staring right up the center of her. 

"My God," he said under his breath. "Look at you. I think that little cunt's going to take me in _very_ nicely, so long as you co-operate." 

Saying that, he ran his hands up the insides of her thighs and pushed them even wider, _spreading_ her out between his thumbs. She cried out and tossed her head and tried to thrash away from him, a little, but his grip on her meant she couldn't even push her hips up enough to jar into him when he _oh oh dear God_ lowered his head until he was kissing her, slow and wet and his tongue squirming out to lap at her, right up into the slit between her legs. 

She hated it. She knew she must hate it, even when she could feel herself drip a little and _twitch_ tighter like -- like she was trying to get hold of his tongue, like the empty feeling she sometimes felt when she rubbed herself had a shot at the kind of thing it was after, now, all of a sudden. She bit down on the inside of her mouth hard as she could stand, which really just meant that the noise she made when he licked her a second time was strangled off and even more awful-sounding than it would have been. 

He did it again, and the noise was worse, enough to make him pull back -- his _mouth_ was wet -- and say, all hoarse and irritable, "for God's sake, Allison, caterwaul as much as you like. No one outside this room can hear you."

She must have known that, she thought, deep down, he did this kind of thing in here pretty much _every day_ , and then he licked her right up the middle and she moaned like Lindy had, like Maryann, like Bridget, and what her body wanted to do more than anything was twist up and just grind that wet part of her -- her _cunt_ \-- hard into his mouth, harder than she'd ever pressed her hand against it. She couldn't, with the way he was still pinning her thighs, but he had to be able to feel her trying; he moaned too, right against her, and did it again in a shorter, flatter, firmer stroke over the hard little swollen thing at the front of her that felt almost too good to touch sometimes. 

_God_. That was -- she was melting like crazy, all over his mouth, and she barely had time to think that before he sort of slurped at her _while_ he licked and her body did its utmost to thrash out of his grasp hard enough to probably break something, if he hadn't been ready. He pushed her back down by her thighs, that time, the same way he'd pushed her head down when she sucked him, and that was -- that was -- some crazy part of her almost wanted to try sucking him again, to do it better, even if it was just to have something in her mouth to stop her making the awful _umhhh, ah, ah_ sounds she made whenever his tongue and his lips touched that swollen little part of her that didn't feel little, anymore, it felt like it was getting to be the size of the world. 

He had her right on the edge of the cliff, she could feel it, when he pulled back again and she actually sobbed, " _oh, no, please, please_ \--" before she could stop herself. He looked stunned and diabolical, even-especially with half his face all slicked up from her, and then he pulled her forward and threw his left forearm down across her hips and pushed one finger of the right hand into her, all the way to the second knuckle, just like that. 

Allison had never had anything inside her at all, before. Mother had been vague but definite, in her letter, that tampons weren't for nice girls to use; her friends' mothers all felt the same, and she'd felt certain that it would be even worse to put anything else up there, fingers or the handle of her hairbrush or anything else that occurred to her sometimes when she was really going after herself and she could _feel_ that she wanted to be filled up with something. Charles and Bobby had both tried to pinch their fingers into her without really asking, and she'd squirmed away. And now she wasn't quite on the edge anymore but she could feel herself clutching around Daddy's finger, much bigger than either of theirs, a stretch but not exactly painful, and when she looked down again they were staring into one another's eyes and she said without even wanting to, " _Daddy oh my God_."

"My thoughts," he said thickly, "exactly." He pushed a little deeper, crooked his finger until something inside her felt like a match striking, and then he put his head back down and got right back to work with his tongue. After a second or so of that he'd come up with a rhythm that felt like he was worrying at that part from both sides, somehow, squirmy and relentless, she kept squeezing hard around his finger and then even harder just from feeling it inside her. It was a _tease_ , was what it was, somehow, impossibly -- she didn't know how in the world anything bigger than that would get into her, but every time she tightened up and felt him rubbing the inside of her while he lapped at the outside, _God_ , she hated every bit of it and still she wasn't full enough.

Daddy closed his lips on her and sucked wetly, hard, hard, hard, hard, and she shrieked and came like a dam bursting open in a flood. 

And that was it, she thought as soon as she could think at all, limp on the chaise and still clenching and shivering: there went her claim to innocent victimhood, just like that. She might've had one in the first place, not knowing he'd called her in for this; she might've even deserved some sympathy if she'd just done what he wanted out of shock; but now no one in the world could say she wasn't just as bad as he was. She _must_ have, deep down, always wanted it. 

"That's better," Daddy said, painfully hoarse, rocking back on his heels; he eased his finger out of her, leaving an empty displaced feeling behind, and got back up to his feet. "That's my good girl. I admit, if I were a gentleman, I'd work on opening that up a little more, but I think now you'll figure out how to accommodate me."

He tugged his belt open again, then his fly, then his cock out of his shorts; he wasn't quite as hard again as he had been, Allison thought, but closer than she'd imagined he _could_ be yet, and it didn't really look any less big than it had when she was an inch away from it. She was braced, as much as she could ever be, for him to make her get him harder -- her mouth again, maybe -- and somehow what he did instead was worse: he reached back down between her legs, almost _scooping_ up her wetness with the flat of his fingers, and slicked that all over his cock, pulling at himself with a hard impatient rhythm.

"Do you know," he said -- he was panting a little, in time with his hand -- "you're going to be my first virgin in a very, very long time. I've been looking forward to that, even though I knew there was always some chance a beautiful girl like you would get yourself cornered by some pimply zero hellbent on putting his inconsequential prick where it didn't belong. You _have_ managed to dodge that bullet?"

"Yes, Daddy," she said, because there was nothing else to say. 

"That's my girl. I made you alive and I'm going to make you famous, I say it's only my fair reward to make you a woman into the bargain." He took his hand away; his cock was standing up again just as hard as before, and he laughed to see how she couldn't look away. "That's right. You know where it's going this time, don't you?" 

"I guess," Allison said -- mumbled, really, and he raised his eyebrows at her. "I mean -- do you have to, right away? I could suck it again --" 

" _Yes_ , I goddamn well have to, right away." This time again his voice wasn't nearly as harsh as his words; he even smiled a little, teeth-bared as it was. "And you're going to take it much more sweetly than some very experienced operators I've known. You're _shockingly_ oversexed, virgin or no virgin, which you certainly didn't get from your mother. Lie back down."

She did. She couldn't exactly figure out what to do with her legs, how to open them wide enough when she wasn't lying back on her mattress, until Daddy came and loomed over her and arranged her like a ragdoll; he got hold of her right leg by the ankle and pushed it up, her knee towards her chest, her calf hooked over the low back of the chaise to open her. It was a strain, but she was faithful with her callisthenics; she'd be able to wrap it around him, maybe, when he was inside her. Then if his hands hadn't still been on her -- pushing her left leg down off the edge of the cushions, where she'd just been sitting -- she might have twisted herself all the way off the chaise, probably hurt herself pretty bad, realizing she'd just thought, just like that, _when he was inside her_ ; he was probably right after all, about all of it.

"Allison," he said; she felt the chaise creak under his weight, the heat of him between her twitching bare thighs, but she couldn't make herself keep her eyes open. "You should know, sweetheart, I do love you very much, and I'm very proud of you for giving yourself to me so nicely."

"I love you too, Daddy," she said. She meant it, that was the thing; even splayed out and surrendered and wrong like this, flinching when he leaned over her, hearing it made her want to burrow into his chest and cry. If they were equally bad, then at least maybe they were the _same_ , and at least maybe he loved her for being that way along with him. 

The only thing she could do to show it, either way, was lie there, and choke on a little surprised cry when he pressed the blunt head of his cock against her. It wasn't anywhere near her opening, to begin with, and after a second she realized he was dragging it all up and down along the center of her: getting it wet or teasing her, maybe, giving her a scare with how fat it was, or else a chance to get used to it. He spent a little longer than she would have imagined rubbing it against the point towards the front of her, and that felt _horribly_ good, that she could have wanted a lot more of, until just when she was starting to whimper and try to squirm her hips, he dragged it down to line up right with the seam of her cunt and _pushed_. 

There was no way, she thought, for a shocked second; there was just no _way_ , he'd have to see it wouldn't fit in her after all, and then he pushed again and she felt herself stretch and _God_ she wanted to close her legs again, quick before the next time he could try. And then he did try again, harder, grunting when she started to give way, she was absolutely certain she felt something rip and then the head of her father's cock was inside her, even if he stopped right then her virginity was officially gone, and every single breath she tried to take sounded like a scream. 

"All right," he said; he sounded positively winded too, that was something. "All right, sweetheart, I'll give you a moment. That should be the worst of it."

_Liar_ , she thought, even before he started to move again. She'd felt, when he'd played with her earlier, like she wanted more inside her; she must have been wrong, or not this much, not his cock forcing her open so wide that he must be rearranging her insides to make room. There wasn't going to be room for anything inside her except him, if he kept that up, and she was really crying this time, sniveling unpretty sobs --

"For God's sake," Daddy growled; he grabbed her hand from where she'd been gripping the back of the chaise, and pulled it down until her fingers were actually pressing in her own wet. "Play with yourself. Make yourself feel good. I'm not going to do it for you just at the moment." 

That was -- that was something, at least, it was an idea. She was still wet, the place in front of her was still swollen and still twinged with pleasure when she brushed against it, and she could just about remember the rhythm he'd used on her before. She could stand, she realized, to push her fingers against it a _lot_ harder than she usually could, just to balance out the pain of Daddy stretching her open. The pain certainly didn't stop, but it didn't call time on the pleasure either; she was somehow feeling both things at once, and he managed to fuck a good way deeper on one hard thrust when she started to get preoccupied with the question of how she could manage that. What would happen if she pressed harder still -- she yelped, and clenched a little, and his cock _twitched_ inside her. It hurt, and there was something crawly and invasive about feeling it move all on its own, but it was on its way back to being not-only-bad. 

She remembered suddenly the way he'd gotten thicker in her mouth while she was sucking him, right before he came, and that -- that brought back the hot-cold feeling all over again. He wasn't going to, was he? _Inside_ her? Everyone agreed you couldn't get pregnant the first time but this would really be the nightmare way to find out -- the fear made her clench down hard, made him groan, made her press her fingers against herself even harder almost by reflex now to offset the pain, and she couldn't stop picturing it. Almost feeling it, all that sticky heat pouring into her, slipping out of her, she was absolutely positive she didn't want _that_ but the thought was starting to make her shiver all the same.

"And that," Daddy said, his breath hot on her neck, "it appears, is the end of the trail, at least from this approach. Hang on now."

God, he _was_ deep, she realized, he'd gotten deep while she was losing her mind -- so far she was afraid even to let her hand brush against her stomach, in case she could feel his cock in her from the outside. She'd barely even thought that when he started to really move in her: out, in, out, in, longer and longer strokes, matching the rhythm she was using on herself. The wet filthy sounds of it were getting louder and louder, his body smacking against hers while she couldn't even remember how to move anything but the hand she was using to rub herself. She was just _spasming_ around his cock, and it still didn't even feel exactly good, just that -- like her mouth, the inside of this part of her had ideas about wanting to pull him deeper, get more inside her than there even was room for, and now that he wouldn't make her gag he was going right along with it.

_Forcing_ his way in and out of her, really, like her body wasn't any more consequential than the hand he'd used to get himself hard -- no, that couldn't be exactly right, he wouldn't be doing something like this if she weren't priceless to him, if he didn't want her too badly to resist -- _God_ , her mind was whipsawing between those two ideas and she was almost digging at herself with her fingers, hard and fast and more, his cock fucking her in and out, worthless, irreplaceable, in and out dragging just in passing against the matchstrike place inside her, she was all but _slapping_ herself trying to find how hard she could do that before she stopped wanting to do it harder, and her hips her thighs her stomach starting to quiver --

"Oh, you little _whore_ ," Daddy breathed against her ear, "you little fucking _star_ , come on, Allison. Come on, sweetheart, give me one right on my cock, show me what you're made of. Show me you're Daddy's best girl. That's it. That's it --" 

Coming this way, with him fucking her relentlessly hard all the way through it, was different all over again. It still hurt, what he was doing to her, stretching her open and battering away at her insides; that didn't stop, but the pain ran into the pleasure from her fingers and the crazy dirty things spinning around in her head and the shame of being spread out this way with Daddy panting over her and her _liking_ it, and it all went off like a chemical reaction when it met. Like something atomic, white-hot, she was clenching on him hard and trying to slam her hips up and making terrible little yowling noises and it didn't stop and didn't stop and didn't stop and hadn't stopped yet, when he growled something wordlessly filthy-sounding against her ear: reared back, pulled out of her fast enough to really hurt, stripped his hand over his cock one two three times, and came hot and thick and impossibly much all over her stomach and her breasts and as far up as the hollow of her throat. 

Panting, both of them. 

When she opened her eyes, she was still splayed out and starting to seriously hurt from the stretch as well as the rest of it; she pretty much had to locate every individual muscle below her waist, one at a time, just to unhook her leg from the back of the chaise and pull her knees back together. She sort of felt like she never wanted to part them again, except to bathe or maybe have herself sewn shut altogether, and sitting up straight even on something this soft was _absolutely_ the worst mistake she'd ever made in her life, even worse than wanting to be a star in the first place. 

She still did, she realized, want that; so at least it still seemed like Daddy hadn't been _wrong_ about her. 

When she could concentrate enough to look around and see him, he was standing over her and tucking his cock away, with a silk handkerchief crumpled in one hand; he grinned at her, when he saw her eyes focus, and held the handkerchief out for her to look at. There were stains on it that she guessed were from both of them, white and watery and long smudges of red. She had to cough and clear her throat a few times before she could say anything, and it came out so that "-- bleeding?" was pretty much the only intelligible word, but it was obvious anyway he'd been waiting for her to ask. 

"Virgins tend to. It generally looks like more than it is. I'll be sure and stay off your cunt for the next few days while you're healing up."

The next few days. That answered that, it sounded like, but the look on her face was probably asking for her, because he sighed and patted her knee. "Honestly, Allison. You should have realized long before now that becoming a powerful man's protégée was going to entail certain responsibilities. The fact that I adore you and I created you to begin with certainly doesn't rebalance those books to _your_ advantage, but I gather you'll find paying off the debt remarkably satisfying."

He kissed her on the lips, then, slow and thoughtful and with just too much tongue to make it past the censors even if she'd been no relation at all; it wasn't until then that she realized she couldn't remember him doing it before. She couldn't think of anything to say. After a minute he sighed, and squeezed her leg, and got up.

"I'll be giving Lindy her walking papers, say, day after tomorrow. I imagine _that_ should be a pleasant change for you and me both." A door on the other side of the room, one she'd always vaguely imagined must be a closet, turned out to open on a little private washroom; Daddy flicked the light on and turned the tap up to a trickle. "When you're quite ready. I imagine you'll want a rain check on lunch as well -- yes? I'll have Max run you straight home, and you tell Maria that I say the birthday girl is not to be bothered and should have her cake and ice cream in bed whenever she feels like it. I won't be late."

He sat back down at his desk, and then got up, and began to fix himself a drink from the little bar against the other wall. 

"Say _thank you_ at any time, Allison," he added. 

"Thank you, Daddy," she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm garbage, but I'm very needy garbage. Tell me you liked it, and I'll tell you something else I have in mind for these two.


End file.
